Air
by wordsaremyfriends
Summary: Three-shot! Pepper Potts just might be losing her mind. But even her boss' mental state is questionable...
1. Of Cheeseburgers and Storm Clouds

I don't know if any of you remember me, but once upon a time, I wrote quite a bit for this site. I loved it; I loved the reviews (I am an unabashed review whore); I loved having others enjoy these little stories I write when I should be doing other, doubtless more important things. And then life happened, and I found myself unable to write anything for roughly a year – which, to an obsessive writer like me, is borderline hell.

So anyway, if you know me: I'M BAAACK! And if you don't: Hello. :-)

**IMPORTANT AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Yes, initially, this was planned as a one-shot. However, a couple reviewers left good suggestions, so I took these points as a challenge to myself.

Thanks to all who reviewed.

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><p><strong>Of Cheeseburgers and Storm Clouds<strong>

Pepper, on her rare days off, loved to drive out into the hills, park her car on the side of a desolate road, and just _breathe_. It was freeing, somehow, to simply tilt her head back to rest against her cushioned seats and allow the cool, crisp air to flow in and out of her lungs. _In and out. In and out._

_Drat_. Now she wanted a hamburger. Honestly, the way her mind jumped from one topic to the next… It was absurd. Pepper hadn't always been so tangential. In fact, there had been a point in her life where she had been the most straightforward, forthcoming, and (more than likely) dull person you could ever come across. But over the years, the veneer had just sort of… melted away. Maybe that isn't quite the right way to put it. Because it hadn't so much disappeared as morphed into something else entirely. And sometimes, it irked her. She would catch herself racing from one unconnected thought to the next. She occasionally had difficulty focusing. She could understand the mutterings of her slightly unhinged boss.

And that is what annoyed her most. She was starting to think like him. To be like him. She knew the moment she comprehended his "drunk talk" that something was wrong.

Pepper didn't like that thought. She didn't like the idea of becoming like Tony Stark (albeit mentally). She didn't like having to control herself from saying something brash or ballsy – something he would do without a second thought. She never used to have this problem. But now…

Pepper shut her eyes tightly and brushed a wayward lock of red hair out of her mouth. The wind was starting to pick up. Clouds – dark, ominous ones – were looming in the distance. It was probably time to head back home.

But not quite yet.

_In, out. Just relax. Breathe. In and out. In and out._

_God, I want that cheeseburger._

**Well, what did you think? Please review and let me know. Reviews genuinely make me happy. I am not just saying that for the heck of it. :-) *Hint, hint***


	2. Of Leather, Locks, and Dirty Thoughts

Okay, here is the dichotomy a couple of you asked about: what if Pepper rubbed off on Tony, rather than vice versa?

Once more, let me know what you think, suggestions, etc. Also, should this be the end, or is there still some life in this?

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><p><strong>Of Leather, Locks, and Dirty Thoughts<strong>

There was something in the air. Something that hinted at leather. The sound of clicking pens and the snapping of locks. The barest suggestion of ink marking paper.

And Tony had to wonder if he was going mad. In his workshop, there was no leather (though he wouldn't mind Pepper in a hot catsuit), no ink pens (way too old-fashioned), and even though there were many locks, none of them had the same cutting quality as those he had just heard. Briefcase locks. Leather briefcases being opened and shut, opened and shut.

_Wow. That is just really weird._

How on earth? Why? Should he be concerned?

"Jarvis, was there anything on the schedule for today?" he called out.

The AI was prompt to answer. "Are you referring to appointments you are not keeping?"

"Just tell me the schedule. And quit with the sarcasm. I'm really starting to regret that update."

"As you wish, sir," the posh voice continued. "At 11:30 a.m. you were scheduled to attend a board meeting at Stark Industries."

_Hmm…_

"Miss Potts attended in your place, sir."

"Huh. I don't even remember being told about it."

There, he expected the conversation to cease, but apparently, Jarvis didn't know when to stop. That would require yet another upgrade.

"Actually, sir, Miss Potts first told you of the meeting five days ago, and has reminded you once daily since."

To himself, Tony muttered, "Well, she obviously didn't expect me to go."

"No, sir."

"So then, why did she even tell me?"

"I believe, sir, it was due to the fact that you are the CEO of the company, and are therefore expected to attend such meetings."

Throwing a hand up into the air which the AI could not see, Tony heaved a sigh. "Shut it, Jarvis. I'm talking to myself now. No interruptions."

"As you wish, sir."

So... Either he was psychic (hence the whole "sensing the boardmeeting thing") or he was crazy. Or maybe he was picking up Pepper's sixth sense - which was to innately know when something important and business-y was taking place_... _

_Nah._ Now _that_ thought was crazy.

It was nothing. Really. The conscience he had otherwise managed to bury deep within himself had reared its ugly head for a brief moment - to remind him that he had a duty to perform. That he ought to take better care of his company. That he should start waking up early, getting himself into a nice suit and tie, and heading off to work. Like a normal person.

Ha. Like that would ever happen.

Tony stark didn't do average. He didn't do normal. Or ordinary, or any other synonym for what he considered "boring." He was - awesome suit and debonair charm aside - _extra_ordinary.

_Yeah. I like the sound of that._

Though having Pepper help him into his suit coat and adjusting his tie every morning wouldn't be objectionable. It was actually a great time to invade her personal space

But as he went back to work on a new program for his metallic suit, a little something in the back of his mind was niggling him. He actually felt bad about not attending the boardmeeting. Maybe, for once, he'd actually missed something. Besides, they weren't all bad. Sitting next to Pepper for several hours in _close_ proximity had its advantages. Like accidentally dropping things, and then accidentally brushing up against her leg. Or her blouse. Or leaning his thigh against hers. And then reveling in the look of annoyance, embarrassment, and horror that came over her face.

No. They weren't all bad.

**Tadaa! Once again, thank you for reading and please take a moment to review!**


	3. Of Panting

This was meant to be a one-shot. Then a two-shot. And now, it is a three-shot. Hope you all enjoy. As a note: this vignettes takes place post IM1 but pre IM2.

Enjoy!

**Of Panting**

There was a reason Pepper didn't like to run. First and foremost, she wore ridiculous stilettos 99% of her waking life (and due to the unusual requests of one boyfriend, in bed as well). And to be honest, they hurt. A lot. Especially when running. Her poor little piggies were thoroughly abused after a day's worth of running up and down the stairs at Tony's mansion, or charging down the halls of Stark Industries.

And so, Pepper had given up on running almost entirely. She preferred to sashay from one place to the next. Not only did it look better, but it felt better, too. Which was, of course, the more important reason of the two. Obviously.

The second reason she didn't like to run was what it did to her body. She was by no means in poor physical shape – far from it – but it did odd things to her skin. The creamy flesh turned various shades of pink under such exertion. To say the least, she didn't like it. The color clashed with her red hair. If she didn't wear pink dresses for that exact reason, she sure as hell did not want pink skin.

And her lungs. They heaved up and down, desperately trying to scoop in as much air as possible.. Gasping for breath is never pleasant. And it certainly doesn't look good.

But right now, at this moment, she doesn't care how she looks. All she cares about is being there.

Tony had gone off to play Iron Man. And he had gotten himself hit by a tank shell. Now, his damaged suit had managed to return him home, but what of the human contents? Was he injured? Dead? Bleeding to death? Turned into mush?

She had no idea where the last thought came from, and she didn't have time to ask. Careless of her expensive shoes and aching heels, she scurried from one side of her boss' mansion to the other; then rushed down the steps into what can only be described as his "lair."

There was a creaking, heavy tin sound to welcome her, like a hundred wrenches had just been dumped onto the concrete floor. The suit was standing erect on the removal platform; robots unscrewed and detached piece after piece of red or gold metal. Yes, Tony was definitely still in the suit. His back was to her; his arms were held high by the machinery.

That is, until his arms were released. Instantly, he slid to the floor with a worrisome thud, his right arm pinned unnaturally under his torso, bits of the suits still attached to his legs and trunk.

Again, the piggies were sacrificed in a hurried dash toward him. Images flashed into Pepper's head: pictures of lilies, coffins, green fields covered with inscribed stones, cloudy days and umbrellas. Statues of hushed angels and cold marble. Images of days to come – days of deep quiet, of loneliness, of herself huddled in a corner – her arms wrapped protectively around her knees, seeking warmth and finding none.

Fear leapt into her throat.

She was on the floor beside him. The remnants of the suit could wait: right now, all she had the focus to manage was to press her ear to his chest in the hopes of hearing a beat. Her hands gripped his shoulders. Nothing. Still nothing.

More nothing.

And then, as her eyes began to sting fiercely, something.

"Not a bad view," came an almost unrecognizable, croaking sound. Still clutching his body to hers, she tilted her chin up to look at her boss' face. It was pale, sweat stained, and exhausted. But his eyes were open and looking down at her.

Looking, she realized, down her blouse.

Smiling to herself and blinking away the forming tears, she answered with, "Nice," and left it at that. She was far to relieved to reprimand him now.

He was home, and more or less in one piece. One little peek didn't hurt anything, right?

**Thank you so very much for taking the time to read this. Please leave your comments, criticism (constructive, please!), or thoughts for me.**


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